Luckily for her, they're all in the same room, sleeping on bunk beds. Sleep.

Now they are even more thoroughly sleeping!

Good! Because she's not going to be quiet about slitting these throats. She's sobbing and laughing as she does it, actually.

After killing the first swordsman and watching his eyes snap open in horror, unable to do more than gurgle, she realizes she's been making a major error.

The next one she stabs through the crotch once she finishes his neck, and his eyes slam shut in glorious agony as he bleeds out.

The last one she kicks in the balls and stabs through the left eye. 

Then it's just her, the blood covering her, and the wizard.

Can she find his spellbook?

He sleeps with it on his person, wrapped up in a soft little pouch. (He may be the only wizard here, but that doesn't mean he trusts the other Lords of the Maze not to steal it.)

Okay. She handcuffs one of his hands to the bed with the cuffs she'd been wearing only minutes ago. 

Then she breaks the fingers in his other hand to wake him up. 

"WE'RE UNDER ATTACK, EVERYONE WAKE UP—"

His eyes catch up to his hand, and he takes in who, exactly, just woke him up.

"Good morning!" she says, her smile full of teeth and her face, hands, and clothes all stained with blood. "If you try and cast anything I'm going to stab you in the neck, okay? But you can scream some more, if you like! The others are all dead."

Her horrible grin grows even wider.

"V-very clever, girl. Y-you know, there's a place in Baphomet's service for bright p-people like you."

It probably won't work, but it's not like he has a better idea.

..she looks like she's seriously considering it. "What's in it for me?" 

"He, he can offer you power, and knowledge, a-and the chance to rise high b-by your own wits. He's the cleverest o-of the gods, you know."

Her eyes are wild. "Really. The cleverest."  She waves the knife in his direction; specks of blood from it hit his face. "How do you figure?" She sounds genuinely interested. 

"The p-prince of Hell tried to t-trap him in a maze he could n-never escape, b-but he outsmarted him a-and stole the working for his own domain. A-and none of the Good gods even have a chance against him."

She sighs. She hadn't expected this would be so boring. (she just thought that it might -)

Whatever. She already knew he was stupid - now she knows he's one of the boring kinds of stupid. 

"It's just not very convincing," she says conversationally, though there's a bit of a wobble in her voice. "Sure, he managed to find his way out of a fancy maze while Asmodeus was distracted with something actually important." (Muvaki doesn't use Godpronouns for demon lords, any more than she would for Razmir) "And then he, what, spends millennia doing basically nothing of consequence, worshiped only by the idiots of his own kind? And then, when someone else hands him and his ilk access to Golarion on a silver platter, he fucks it up so bad that they've barely made inroads a hundred years later!" (She's almost yelling at him, now. Why is she yelling? That probably ruins the effect, right? It's not how she remembers her dear Chosens lecturing her, at any rate.)

She takes a breath, angry at how shaky it feels, and continues at a normal volume. "No, I don't think your lord is very clever at all." 

(...what is she even doing? She doesn't actually want to argue with him. She wants to make him scream.)

Acid Splash. She aims it at his broken fingers. There's lots of nerve endings in fingers, as she knows quite well. 

For the first instant it just feels wet, but then it starts burning at his skin, searingly hot, like boiling water that can't be removed. He yelps in pain and tries reflexively to twitch his fingers in the gesture for Prestidigitation, sending a shooting pain through his broken fingers. Where the acid made direct contact, his skin looks charred.

She hates him fucking so much, hates him for being a stupid fucking demon cultist, hates him for doing everything he did to her, hates him for being so godsdamned stupid, hates him for not even being any fun to torture.

She casts Acid Splash again, this time aiming for his face. She's sick of looking at it. (She wants to scream.)

Now he is screaming more loudly!

(The skin on his face has that same charred look. His left eye is scrunched up and quite possibly permanently blinded. He strains ineffectually against the restraints.)

Acid Splash. Acid Splash. Acid Splash. (She wants to throw up.)

He manages to pull himself together enough to cough out a "Go to Hell, diabolist bitch" between Acid Splashes, and screams some more, and by the time she hits him with the last Acid Splash the pain is bad enough that he blacks out.

......she takes his spellbook from the pouch and stabs him in the neck. (He did try to cast a spell, after all. A promise is a promise.)

Now his burned and bloody corpse is lying on the bed. 

The notation for his spells is vaguely reminiscent of the style they use at the academy in Ostenso, if she happens to recognize it. It doesn't seem like he's an especially talented wizard; he doesn't have anything above first circle, though he does have a few spells her borrowed spellbook lacks.

...Huh. Well, it's nice to have, even if there's nothing especially good.

She rummages through the room, moving slowly. (It feels a bit like a dream, like any second she'll wake up still in chains.)

It is not an incredibly well-resourced cult. The martials did at least have armor, not that it'll do much good for a wizard, and there are a couple scrolls of Protection from Good tucked into a scroll case, but apart from that the most valuable item in the room is a statuette of a goat perched on an altar in the corner of the room with two tiny gemstone eyes.

In terms of survival equipment, they're doing a little better: they've all got their own blankets, they have mess kits to eat, and so on. Their clothing is bloody and not in her size, but it does exist.

She won! They're all dead! This is great! Perfect! Exactly what she wanted! (She's breathing far too fast.)